


shake the hips

by ohmcgee



Category: DCU (Comics), Secret Six
Genre: Canon Universe, Drunk Dancing, Drunk Sex, Lawton's pov, M/M, Spit As Lube
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2018-06-04
Packaged: 2019-05-18 00:24:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14842040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmcgee/pseuds/ohmcgee
Summary: "I smoke and I shoot things. Dancing ain't in the job description."





	shake the hips

**Author's Note:**

  * For [StarCityRebels](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarCityRebels/gifts).



“ _We lived,"_ Scandal says.

“ _We deserve to celebrate,"_ she says. 

She don't say nothing about _dancing_. 

A couple of beers, Floyd figures. Maybe even a round of some good, strong shots that burn the lining of your esophagus and make you just wish you _had_ died the next morning. Going out and celebrating sounds real good to him, all the way up until they walk into a damn nightclub with flashing lights and fog machines and music so loud he can’t even hear himself think, much less hear whatever Blake's yelling about in his ear. It ain’t that Floyd's never been in a joint like this before. There’s a whole year in the 80s he can’t remember because of places like this, but these days they just aren’t much of his idea of fun. So he finds them a table a fair distance away from the blaring speakers and as soon as they sit down Blake starts laughing at him.

“The fuck you laughing at?” Floyd asks as he reaches across the table and grabs a shot -- no, two shots. He’s gonna need to be absolutely hammered if he’s gonna make it through this rodeo without killing somebody.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look this uncomfortable,” Blake grins and throws back a shot of his own. “What’s the matter? Allergic to fun, Lawton?”

“Pretty sure you saw the kinda fun I enjoy this morning when you so rudely interrupted mine and Miss Jeanette’s shower,” Floyd smirks and reaches for another shot, only to have his hand smacked away by Scandal and a nasty glare shot his way. _Share,_  she mouths at him, then takes the shot for herself.

“Locks,” Blake smirks. “You should try them sometime.”

Floyd flips him the bird and as soon as Scandal gets dragged off by a pretty blonde with legs for days he grabs another shot glass from the tray.

“Think she’s got the right idea,” Blake shouts over the noise, nodding toward the sea of bodies on the dance floor that Scandal and her new friend just disappeared into.

“I smoke and I shoot things, Blake,” Floyd says, raising his shot glass up in a mock toast. “Dancin’ ain’t in the job description.”

“Suit yourself,” Blake shrugs, taking another shot for himself before sliding out of the booth and making his way onto the dance floor. Floyd watches until he disappears into the crowd of writhing, sweaty bodies too, then stands up and makes his way over to the bar since all the damn drinks Scandal had ordered are already gone. He orders a beer and sits at the bar, shooting the shit with the bartender until a girl in a skin-tight minidress comes up and orders herself a Screaming Orgasm, holding eye contact with Floyd while she tosses it back.

“You should dance with me,” She says, running her hand up and down the length of his arm and batting her eyes at him.  

“Oh darlin’, I hate to disappoint, but I don’t --”

“Don't be lame,” She grins, then tugs Floyd off of his stool and drags him behind her. He could shake her off, of course, but as soon as he'd stood up he became immediately and dizzyingly aware of how much alcohol he’d consumed in such a short amount of time. Besides, the cute little thing pulling him out on the dance floor has a body like a damn Victoria Secret’s model and barely looks old enough to even be let in the damn place, and damn is that ain't a hell of a boost to his ego. So, Floyd lets her do her thing. He follows her, weaving in between the other couples, and puts his hands on her waist when she finds a spot she likes and starts moving her hips, grinding her cute little ass back against him. As far as dancing goes, Floyd doesn’t do very much of it. But his dance partner seems more than willing to do most of the work for him and most importantly, doesn’t seem to mind at all where he put his hands.

It’s definitely the booze and maybe a little bit of exhaustion mixed in there, but after a while Floyd realizes he don’t mind it as much as he thought he would. The dancing, the music, being smack dab in the middle of a huge crowd of people with only two stinkin’ guns on him if things were to go south and his eyes only on two of the exits. It’s all still there in the back of his mind, but for once he’s able to tune it out a little and just let himself enjoy the moment. He presses himself up against the girl he’s dancing with, flattening his hand out across her stomach. She smells like apples and the fancy, girly perfume Scandal wears sometimes and Floyd entertains a brief thought of what she’d be like in the sack before he looks up to see Blake dancing a few feet away from them.

Blake’s lost in his own little world, probably just as much as Floyd has been, only Blake’s not dancing with a cute little thing in heels and a dress. Some freakishly tall douchebag wearing a mesh shirt has one hand on Blake’s hip, the other slipped into his back pocket as they move and grind together. Blake’s been out there long enough that his  tan skin’s glistening with sweat and his hair’s starting to curl up around his ears, the same way it does when they train together in the evenings. When the guy he’s dancing with slides his hand up under the front of Blake’s shirt, Floyd tears his eyes away and touches his girl’s arm.

“Need another drink,” he says next to her ear. “You want?”

Floyd expects her to go with him, but instead she just yells what she wants into his ear and keeps on dancing. When he gets to the bar, Floyd orders a couple of straight shots of Tequila and downs them, one right after the other. 

“Thought you didn’t dance,” he hears Blake’s voice in his ear all of a sudden, his hand solid on Floyd’s shoulder as he sidles up next to him.

“Looks like I can be easily persuaded by a pair of fake tits and a nice ass,” Floyd says, taking the last shot. “Who woulda thought.”

Blake just shakes his head as he orders something from the bartender and Floyd's too drunk to pretend not to stare as Blake tilts his head back, exposing the line of his throat, skin glistening under the neon lights as he tosses the shot back. 

“C’mon,” Blake says, nodding in the direction of the dance floor, and Floyd realizes halfway there that he was supposed to bring the cutie he was dancing with something back. Course, he figures that’s not so much a problem anymore when he spots her sandwiched between two or three different guys a couple of feet from where he left her. “Guess she got lonely.”

Because the music’s so loud, Blake has to get real close for Floyd to be able to hear anything he’s saying, close enough Floyd swears he can feels Blake’s hot breath against the shell of his ear.

“Yeah, well I don’t see your pretty boy hanging around and waitin’ on you either,” Floyd shoots back, starting to pat his shirt and pants down for a smoke before he realizes he can’t they don't allow smoking in here.

“Sucks,” Blake says and Floyd can’t help but notice the way Blake’s body is swaying a little bit. It almost looks subconscious, like his hips are just reacting to the music, and Floyd thinks not for the first time about how ridiculous Blake’s body is. Like yeah, Floyd’s in shape and all. He works out, he’s got muscles. But Blake’s something else. He’s firm and smooth, fills out them tight t-shirts he wears like a fuckin’ glove, and his ass is frankly something out of legend. When Floyd realizes he’s staring at said ass he tries to shake the buzz out of his head because that’s obviously what’s causing these stupid ass thoughts. He needs a fuckin’ smoke.

“Yeah, I ain’t gonna cry over it,” Floyd says, but he has to lean over Blake’s shoulder so he can hear him and before he can turn to walk back to the booth, or the bar if he’s being real about it, Blake reaches out and grabs him by the arm. Floyd looks back at him to see what the hell Blake wants and sees something in those crazy green eyes of Blake’s that makes him feel like he just did another line of shots.

“Dance with me,” Blake says, wetting his lips as he blinks those long damned eyelashes at him. “Both lost our partners.”

“I don’t dance, Blake,” Floyd says. He tells himself he only moves a little closer so that he doesn’t have to yell so loud for Blake to hear him. He also tells himself he ain’t staring at Blake’s mouth.

“I know,” Blake says, tilting his head back. “Let me persuade you.”

Floyd swallows as Blake guides his hand to his hip. Then he grabs Floyd’s other hand and moves it to his stomach and when he starts moving again, Floyd can feel all those muscles flexing beneath his fingertips. When Blake’s hips start swaying back and forth, Floyd’s fingers tighten around his them, his thumb grazing the bare skin between his shirt and jeans.

“Blake, what the ---”

“Shut up and dance, Floyd,” Blake growls out, reaching back to grab Floyd’s hip and -- fuck -- grind against him. Floyd bites into his bottom lip until he tastes copper.

“Don’t know what you’re playing at, kitten,” he rumbles out next to Blake’s ear before he slides his hand up under the front of Blake’s shirt, splaying his hand out over those sweat-slick abs, hearing a little moan fall out of Blake’s mouth when he grinds back against him. “But two can play this game.”

And play they do. Floyd loses track of how long they’re out there, touching and grinding and practically fucking each other through their clothes like two teenagers who’re too scared to take it further. At some point, Floyd figures he’s gonna have to admit that they’re not really playing at anything anymore, that his dick’s not hard as a rock in his jeans just from winding Blake’s gears, but because he can’t stop thinking about those nice, plush lips of his around his cock.

When Blake turns to face him, grabbing his hand and saying everything he needs to say with a blink of those pretty eyes, Floyd follows him through the crowd without question.

The men’s room is predictably filthy, but it’s hardly the most disgusting place Floyd’s ever done something like this. As soon as he turns the lock on the door, Blake attacks him, licking into his mouth and fucking his tongue down his throat, big paws framing each side of Floyd’s face. Floyd grabs the hem of Blake’s shirt and rucks it up under his armpits, wants to feel as much of that hard, tight muscle as possible and groans when Blake reaches down and gropes him through his jeans.

“You wantin’ something there, Blake?” Floyd smirks, lifting an eyebrow at him.

“You know what I want,” Blake rumbles, nipping at Floyd’s mouth before reaching into his pocket and pushing a condom packet against Floyd’s chest.

“Guess I do,” Floyd says, getting his pants undone as Blake drops his own and bends over, holding onto the sink in front of them.

Floyd rolls the condom on and spits into his hand in place of lube. It’s ain’t optimal, that’s for damn sure, but it’ll do in a pinch, he figures. Before going right at it, he sucks his thumb into his mouth for a second and pushes it against Blake’s hole first, dipping it inside that pink pucker a few times, drawing a filthy little sound out of him that Floyd wouldn’t mind hearing an awful lot of.

“Fuck, Floyd,” Blake snaps. "Just fuck me. I'm good."

“Yeah, don’t gotta ask me twice,” Floyd mutters and lines his cock up, watching as Blake’s pretty pink hole stretches around him as he pushes inside. “Oh _hell,_ Blake.”

“Fuck,” Blake grits out, knuckles going white where he’s gripping the sink. “Fucking _move,_ dammit.”

“Yeah,” Floyd growls out, pulling out almost all the way, then snapping his hips, drawing a deep, _nasty_ moan out of Blake’s mouth. “Holy fuck, kitten. You sound like a goddamn porn star.”

“Floyd,” Blake pants. “Shut up and _fuck_ me.”

Apparently, Floyd does have to be asked twice, but he’s not gonna let it go for three. It’s just that he hasn’t exactly done something like this with another guy and he figured it couldn’t be all that different than it was with a lady, but _jesus mother of shit._ Blake’s like a damn vice around his cock, hot and tight and there’s sure as fuck not enough lube, but hell, that almost makes it better. He can feel _everything_ and he can see Blake’s face in the mirror in front of them, eyes closed and mouth slack, skin flushed a pretty pink. Between the visual he’s got and the porno noises Blake’s making and all the booze in his system, Floyd has a feeling this ain’t gonna last long at all. And ain’t that a damn _shame._

“Harder,” Blake grunts, reaching back and digging his claws into Floyd’s bare ass. “I’m not going to break.”

“Yeah,” Floyd pants out as he pounds Blake’s ass, nails digging little crescent shapes into Blake’s hips. “But Christ _, y_ ou keep on making them slutty noises I ain’t gonna be able to hold back.”

In the mirror, Floyd sees Blake’s eyes flutter open, sees him lick his lips. “Do it,” he says, taking one hand off the sink to wrap it around his cock and jerk off while Floyd fucks him. “Fuck me, Lawton.”

Floyd lets out a deep growl and picks up the pace, gets his hands on Blake’s ass and spreads him wide so he can watch his cock slide in and out of him. “Gonna fuck you in my bed next, kitten. Get you all nice and wet, let you bounce this gorgeous ass on my cock --”

“God, Floyd. Oh god _fuck --_ ” Blake shouts loud enough for the fuckin’ people outside to hear him and Floyd knows he’s coming, can feel him tightening and clenching around him as his body shudders against him.

“Yeah,” Floyd growls out and grips Blake’s hips so tight he hopes it leaves bruises. “Good kitty.”

He watches Blake’s face in the mirror, Blake’s eyes rolling back in his head as he pounds into him, fucking into that tight, tight heat even as Blake is still moaning, still coming for him. “Oh _fuck_ , yeah. Fuck, I’m gonna  ---”

Floyd sinks his teeth into Blake’s shoulder as the orgasm slams into him and Blake howls, reaching back to yank at Floyd’s hair when Floyd’s teeth break the skin. Floyd grunts each time his cock pulses inside of Blake, rolls his hips against Blake’s ass, giving a few more shallow thrusts, breathing hot against Blake’s neck until he’s spent. Before he pulls out he leans down and licks up the drop of blood he drew.

“Spose that was a long time coming,” Floyd says after he gets his pants back up, pulling the pack of smokes out of his jacket and lighting one up. He leans against the wall, taking long drags from his cigarette as he watches Blake getting dressed. Soon as Blake turns around he finds an interesting crack in the wall to stare at instead.

“You’re not supposed to smoke in here,” Blake says, stepping up into Floyd’s space and pulling the cigarette out of his mouth. He takes a drag off of it and Floyd watches the shape his mouth makes when he turns his head to the side and exhales.

Floyd snatches his smoke back and takes another drag from it, closing his eyes and tilting his head back against the wall. He stands there until he hears Blake’s feet shuffle across the floor and the sound of the door being unlocked.

“Lotta things I’m not supposed to do,” he murmurs, opening his eyes in time to watch Blake walk out the door. “Why start doing the right thing now?"

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on Twitter talking trash, mostly. [if you like that sort of thing.](https://twitter.com/ohmcgee)


End file.
